


Overexposed

by AmazingAbigail



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Hospitals, Mental Illness, Things are not as they seem, you can't trust anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-07-18 00:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19965991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmazingAbigail/pseuds/AmazingAbigail
Summary: Sarah wakes up in a hospital, with no memory of how she got there or how she's going to get out.





	1. introduction

I wake up and see the sun shining through the closed curtains on the far left side of the room. I sit up, feeling awake.

And confused.

I get out of bed quickly and look around. Light blue walls, hard floor. One table against the back wall with a wooden chair and a plush chair, plus the bed I just got out of and a nightstand.

I don’t know how I got here.

I open the door near the window and find a closet. The door near the bed leads to a bathroom. Is this a hotel? It has that clean but slightly alien feel of a hotel room. Why can’t I remember where I am?

I look at my clothing and it’s a typical nighttime outfit of a t-shirt and shorts. I don’t remember these items at all. How can I be wearing something I don’t remember buying?

I don’t understand.

I look around the room again and feel panic creeping up on me. My heart begins to race and my breath becomes shallow. I struggle for a moment to catch my breath.

I feel the urge to run. The walls are closing in on me and I need to leave this place, whatever and wherever it may be.

I head back to the closest. I throw the doors open. There are clothes hanging and some are folded on the top shelf. Like my pajamas, none of them look familiar. I wonder how long I’ve been here.

I jump away from the closest when I hear the door behind me opening. I turn and I see a man walking into the room, looking down at the papers in his hands. I quickly scan the room. It’s surprisingly clean. I spot a tray on my nightstand. I do the only thing I can think of, which is to protect myself. I grab the tray and prepare to swing.

The man looks up and takes half a step back when he’s eyes land on me. His eyes widen, and it seems like I’ve caught him off guard. Maybe that’s a good thing; maybe now I have an advantage.

“Who are you?” I demand, taking a step towards him.

He holds his hands up with his palms facing me. “My name is Dr. Nicholson.”

I take him in. He can’t be much taller than I am, but he’s pudgier. He’s wearing a dark green shirt and light pants. He has light brown hair but dark brown stubble on his cheeks and chin. He seems at least forty, if not older.

The part I can’t quite put my finger on is his name; _doctor_? I hesitate and lower the tray. “What?”

“My name is Dr. Nicholson.” He repeats, taking a few more steps into the room. He sets the papers he was holding down on my bed. I don’t like him being so close. “You’re at Riverside Central Hospital, do you remember?” he asks.

I lower the tray to my side. Hospital? Why am I in the hospital? I must have just got here. Maybe I had an accident; that would explain the fuzziness that feels like static whenever I try to remember.

I let the tray drop onto the table, and it lands almost in its original place. “Why can’t I remember?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” He pulls something out of his shirt pocket. “Would you mind sitting down?” He gestures to the chairs behind me.

“Why should I trust you?” I ask as he moves past me and pulls out the wooden chair for me.

“Because I’m your doctor.”

I look back at the door he’s left open. I could probably make it out before he realized what I was doing. I could call for help, and try to figure everything out.

“Sit.” He tells me, and for some reason I do.

He clicks the thing from his pocket and it turns out to be a flashlight. He raises it to my eyes, but it hurts and I have to look away.

“I need you to look up,” he says. I blink a few times, trying to gain my sight back. Why is his flashlight so bright?

Dr. Nicholson checks my eyes and has me follow the light with my eyes. There’s something weird happening. Why won’t he tell me anything? He must know I’m confused. When he gets up and begins writing on the papers he brought into the room with him, I watch him. He says nothing, but as he writes I watch a smile form on his lips.

“What’s so funny?” I ask. Not because I care, but the silence is killing me. If this is a hospital, isn’t it supposed to be chaotic, with people running back and forth, calling for Blue Codes?

“I’m just relieved your back.”

My eyebrows come together. His answer makes me even more confused. Back from where? Why can’t he just give me a straight answer? Why won’t he stop writing and talk to me?

Thankfully, he looks up and can see I’m confused. “You’ve been gone for a while,” he tells me. That doesn’t help.

“Where am I back from?” I ask.

He clicks his pen and tucks it away before answering. “Physically, you’ve been here for a while. But mentally you’ve been someplace else. You weren’t responding to us like you are now.”

How can that be possible? How can I be in two places at once? I think Dr. Nicholson is the one who’s confused here, not me. The idea of what he’s saying frightens me. I hope he really is the one who’s confused because I don’t like the sound of what he said.

I shake my head. I don’t want to hear anymore. I shouldn’t have asked so many questions.

“You’re free to go to the lounge at the end of the hall anytime you want,” Dr. Nicholson says. “But I’m going to request that you continue to eat your meals in here, just for now.”

I nod as he goes to leave, and just before the door closes, Dr. Nicholson tells me, “You’re going to be okay now Sarah.”


	2. revelation

After Dr. Nicholson leaves, I lean back in my chair. There are a lot of questions I have, but after that short conversation with him, I don’t know if I want to know the answers.

Soon, a woman comes in with a tray. She doesn’t say anything to me, only offers a small smile when I look up. She leaves it on my nightstand and leaves. I plan to sit at the table all day, but the smell of sausage makes me get up and retrieve the tray. I sit back in the chair and look at the paper under my plate. It’s a menu of what I want for tomorrow’s meals. I wonder if this is an everyday occurrence for me. I wonder if I’ve sat here every day for who knows how long, checking boxes of toast and eggs, a chicken salad sandwich, and a meatloaf dinner every day like I am today. Maybe I was so out of it that someone had to do it for me.

I eat the sausage and toast as I continue to wonder what my life has been like since I got here. I wish Dr. Nicholson had told me how long I’ve been here. That would have answered my first question. Next time I see him, I’ll be sure to ask…if I remember, that is.

I finish breakfast and decide to just sit for a little while longer. I don’t think I’m ready to face the day yet. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Nicholson told me about the lounge, but I can’t imagine that it’s any different from my room. Maybe there’s a TV. That’s bound to be the only difference.

I sit there for long enough for the food lady to come back to get my tray. I don’t look up at her, but instead stare at her shoes. I don’t want to talk to her, but her shoes don’t move from in front of me. When I look up, she’s staring at me like I’m a sideshow freak. I already don’t like her and I want her to go away.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

“I’m fine.” I tell her. I want her to go away.

She continues to stare at me. I consider charging her money, but she finally leaves.

While I had made up my mind to stay in my room all day, I decide against it. Staying here would be too easy; I want to see the rest of the hospital. I get dressed and leave my room. I turn left and see a long hallway that turns around a corner. I turn right and see a big window at the end of a short hallway. That must be where the lounge is.

I turn left and make my way down the hallway. Surely all the rooms are filled with other patients. I wonder why they’re here. Maybe they’re just like me. Maybe they can’t remember.

“Sarah?” I hear beside me.

I turn. I’ve made it to the corner and see I’ve stumbled upon a nurse’s station. The woman who said my name is the only one there, but there are others passing by. She looks nice, a lot nicer than the food lady. This nurse seems much older than the other nurses moving around me. Her hair is graying and she has laugh lines around her mouth and eyes.

“Are you going somewhere?” She asks with a smile that seems genuine.

I shake my head. “Looking around,” I tell her.

Her smile doesn’t falter. “I’m glad to see you’re talking again.” Again? “You can’t go that way though. It leads to the rest of the hospital.” She nods back the way I came. “There’s an activity lounge just passed your room you could go to.”

I turn around and head back towards my room. I peak inside the activity lounge at the end of the hall. There’s only one woman inside. She looks older than I am, but not by much. She’s sitting at the card table by the window, playing what appears to be solitaire. I look around the room. There are a few card tables set up around the room. One is covered in paints, canvases, paper, pieces of wood and birdhouses. There’s a row of bookshelves against the back wall by the door filled with games. There’s a long bookshelf and a television, a few plush chairs and a couch. It isn’t much, but it’s…cozy.

The woman turns and takes me in as I move towards the painting table. I have no artistic ability that I can remember, but I suddenly want to paint. I pick a small birdhouse and a few paint bottles and move to one of the card tables, away from the woman.

I pick a dark blue paint for the roof. My hands shake so badly I have a hard time painting it properly. I’m considering painting the entire thing blue and starting over with another house when the woman sits down across from me. I jump at the sudden movement and mess the house up even more. I decide to just paint the whole thing blue.

“What are you doing in here by yourself?” The woman asks. She’s shuffling her cards in her hands.

I look up at her face. She might not be much older than I am, but the bags under her eyes make her look older. I shrug. “I was told to come.”

Her eyes widen at my words. “Dr. Nicholson knows you’re here?”

I nod as I continue to paint. She continues to shuffle.

“I didn’t know you could talk.” She says and now I’m surprised. I look back up again.

“What do you mean?” I ask, dropping my paintbrush. “Have you seen me before?”

She laughs. I don’t want to be laughed at. I want to have my questions answered. Is it so hard for the people here to answer my questions?

“Honey,” I don’t like her calling me honey. “You’ve been here longer than some of the others.”

“How long?” I demand. “How long have I been here?” I might finally get an answer. I’ll be able to piece my memory back together if I had some basic answers to my questions. I wait for her answer, and she seems unsure. I lean forward, needing her to answer. I need to know.

“A year,” she tells me with a shrug, still shuffling her cards like what she said isn’t a big deal.

But she can’t be right. There is no way she can be right. I couldn’t have lost that much time. She has to be wrong. Where did that time go? How did I live my life day after day here? Was this the first time I was fully here, or were there other times I don’t remember?

I bite my lip and look away from her. I feel the sudden need to cry. I have to get away from this woman and her lies.

I grab my wet birdhouse and stand. She calls after me as I move around her and leave the room. I don’t want to see her anymore. I should have just stayed in my room. I don’t want answers anymore.


	3. hazard

I drop the birdhouse on the table as soon as I enter my room. The door closes behind me as I sink back into the plush chair. I should have just stayed here like I originally planned. I will not move unless I absolutely have to.

I don't know what's happening to me, but it's easy for me to slide out and just let time pass. The food lady comes in at lunchtime. She sets a tray in front of me on the table. I can smell the buffalo sauce, but I don't eat. I'm not hungry. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to go ho...

Do I have a home anymore? Is this hospital my home now? Why didn't Dr. Nicholson say anything about my family? Did I have one anymore? I'm over eighteen, I must be, or the people here probably would have had to contact someone. And since I don't remember anything, I doubt I was any help find them.

I don't eat my lunch. After what the woman from the lounge said, I wish I had never come back from wherever I was. I'm sure I was happy, I must have been, if I was able to stay there for a whole year. I want to know what happened before that time. I want to know what happened to lead me here. But that means asking more questions that I'm not sure I'm ready to have answered.

The food lady comes back in after a while and notices I haven't eaten. I can feel her staring at me but I refuse to look up. I just want to be left alone.

She leaves and I'm grateful. I close my eyes and try to remember anything from before this morning, but after my tenth birthday.

The door opens again and I don't look up. I'm still struggling to remember something past my tenth birthday.

"Sarah?"

It's Dr. Nicholson. He's on the top three people I don't want to see right now. Maybe if I ignore him, he'll go away.

When I don't respond, he comes closer.

"Sarah." He says again, only louder and more desperate.

Against my inner wishes, I force myself to look up at him. Now that he's here, I'm going to make him answer a few questions.

Nicholson comes in further. "Sarah, are you alright?" He asks gently. I'm not a child, I'm an adult.

"How long have I been here?" I ask him.

He seems surprised by my voice. He must have thought I faded out again. He sighs before taking a seat in the wooden chair across the table from me. I watch him, waiting for him to speak. I need him to tell me, to confirm that what the woman from the lounge said wasn't a lie. I need to be told the truth. I'm not going to accept anything less anymore.

"You were found last April wandering on the side of the road in Rosswood Park. That was about..." he trails off, hopefully thinking about giving me a definite answer here. "...fourteen months ago. You were unresponsive to the policemen who picked you up and you were brought here."

"Are we still in Alabama?" I ask. He nods and I go ahead with my other questions.

"I didn't talk?"

He shakes his head. "Not at all. We did some tests, but from what we could tell there was no physical reason why you weren't talking. In fact, you didn't do much of anything. You went through the motions all right, but it was like you weren't really here."

"Do you know what happened to me?" I ask. "Was I in an accident or something?" None of this is making much sense.

"You had no physical trauma when you were brought in."

How can it be that I was a moving vegetable for more than a year and nothing physical caused it? That certainly doesn't make any sense. None of this does.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Nicholson asks, leaning against the table.

"I was trying to figure that out when you came in. I was on my tenth birthday." I tell him with a slight smile. I sound pathetic. I wish I could remember something more interesting.

"That's the latest memory?" he questions.

"So far," I say with a shrug. I don't know why I feel so embarrassed. It can't be my fault that I don't remember.

He stands up and pushes the chair in. "Keep working on it," he tells me.

As he makes his way to the door, I think of another question I want answered. "Dr. Nicholson?" I call. He stops and turns around. "What month is it?" I ask.

"August," He tells me before leaving the room.

I lean back in my chair. Those answers weren't nearly as bad as I thought. Of course, there was still the underlying panic because I have no idea what led me to this hospital, but at least I have some answers. I search my room until I find a small notepad and a pen. From now on, I'm going to write down what happens every day so that if I ever fade out again, I'll have this to look back on. I can also write down anymore questions I should come up with.

It takes me a long while to write down my entire day. My brain seems fuzzy around certain parts and I have to strain to remember what happened. But I get it all written down. As I sit in the chair, my fingers a little cramp from writing the two pages today has taken up, I try to decide what to do with the rest of my day.

Is this what every day will consist of? Just sitting around, doing nothing until my memory comes back? I must get to go out to more than just the activities lounge.

The activities lounge, that's it. I could go back there and get one of the books from the shelves. I'm sure there's something there I'll enjoy reading.

I write my plans down and then drop the notepad into my nightstand drawer. If that lady from before is still there, I’ll just ignore her until I pick a book and go back to my room. I'm not quite ready to talk to her again. I don't know why she came over and talked to me, but I wish she hadn't.

I leave the room and head down the hall to the lounge. I hope they have a good collection of books. I remember that I like to read. That's a step in the right direction, right?

I turn the corner to enter the room when I bump into the person coming out. My brain gets fuzzy as I fall to the ground, and then it all gets dark.


	4. openness

I sit up and stretch before getting out of bed. I make my way to the window and open the curtains, allowing the sunlight to brighten the room and-

Wait.

I don’t remember going to bed. I turn and take in the room. Like yesterday. But why does yesterday seem so far away? Something isn’t right.

Or is it?

After getting dressed, I head out into the hallway. I turn towards the nurses’ station. No one is in the hallways. What time is it? My stomach drops. I have a lot of questions that I would like answered.

“Sarah?”

I turn. I’m at the station. The nice nurse from before is looking at me.

“I can’t go out there, can I?” I ask.

She looks surprised. She holds up a finger and picks up her phone and speaks quickly into it. I turn to the doors separating me from the rest of the hospital. I wonder how different it is on the other side. I just wondered this yesterday. The nurse tells me to head back to my room. I don’t know her name; I should know her name. I’ve been here for such a long time – how do I not know her name?

I watch her for a moment, but she doesn’t say anything else, she just watches me in return. Finally, after another moment, I listen. I turn and make the short trek back to my room. Everything seems wrong. Yesterday seems so far away, but it wasn’t.

I sit on the edge of my bed and bury my face in my hands. I still have questions, more now than ever, and I don’t even know where to start. I don’t know who to ask.

I don’t have anyone.

I sit there for a long time, long enough for my legs to fall asleep and my face warm for being pressed in my hands for so long. I lose track of time, but not in what appears to be my usual way.

There’s a knock on the door, and it opens as I jump at the sound.

“How are you feeling today?” Dr. Nicholson asks as he enters the room.

I almost want to laugh. What a stupid question to ask. Shouldn’t he know better than to ask a stupid question like that?

After a moment of silence, I shrug, because I don’t know, not with any certainty. Maybe I don’t feel anything at all. Maybe that would be easier. “Like yesterday,” I tell him. Even though everything is hazy, I can’t figure out a way to put that confusion into words. I don’t know how to make him understand that I just don’t know.

“Yesterday?” he repeats. I notice the quick jerk of his right eyebrow and feel myself frown more deeply.

“I’m confused,” I tell him, settling on an over-simplification, instead of struggling. “I still have a lot of questions”

His eyebrows furrow in a way I instantly don’t like. “Do you mean the conversation we had Tuesday?”

I can’t stop the sigh that comes out. I turn to him, bringing my legs up to my bed and crossing them in front of me. “I don’t know what day it is,” I remind him. “Are you forgetting that I lost fourteen months?”

There’s a pause, and neither of us speaks; he just watches me. Maybe I shouldn’t have been rude, but I think I’m entitled to a bit of it. How does he expect me to know what day it is?

“The last time we spoke was four day ago.”

I feel myself slipping out of place, but in a different way. Everything is sharper; I’m more aware of everything. I hear shoes squeak in the hallway outside; the sun shines brighter through the window; I can small Dr. Nicholson’s cologne from across the room. There’s no way it was so long ago. It was just yesterday – it _feels_ like just yesterday!

How could it have been four days? Where did they go? What did I do?

“Sarah?” Dr. Nicholson asks, his voice exploding in my ears and I find myself wincing at the sound.

“What happened?” I manage to force out.

“You had a run-in with one of the other patients.” He has the nerve to chuckle like this is funny and not completely terrifying. “Quite literally,” he adds. “Just outside the activities lounge.”

“I remember going to the lounge,” I tell him before I can really think about it. When I say it, I know it’s true. I remember I wanted to go because of a conversation similar to this one. I raise my eyes back to him. “But I don’t remember anyone there.”

“He asked about you yesterday; still seems shook up over the whole thing,” he tells me, like I should care. Like I can spare a thought for this mysterious boy that caused me to lose four days.

“Do I know him?”

“I don’t believe so,” Dr. Nicholson says immediately. “We asked and he seems just as confused as we are. I’m sure he’ll be relieved to see that you’re…back.”

He leaves a few minutes later, when I can’t force out anymore answers. As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, I pull my knees up to my chest and try to keep the panic down that’s threatening to rise and spill out.

That night, after dinner, I take a deep breath and leave my room. As much as I would like to head to the doors that lead to the rest of the hospital, I turn and head for the activities lounge. I hear voices before I come to the door, and I pause. I listen for footsteps, but there’s silence. The last time I tried to come here, I lost four days, and I really don’t want to repeat that.

After a couple minutes of standing outside the doorway, I force myself forward. There are more people than I thought inside. I move to the table by the bookcase. I grab a book out at random and sit down.

I open the book and try to focus on the words, but I find myself looking up, and that’s when I see him on the other end of the activities lounge. His dark hair is falling into his eyes. He doesn't feel me looking and doesn't look up.

But I see flashes of trees and wonder why looking at him seems to trigger my memories. 


	5. risk

I try to read the book in front of me, but there’s too much noise around me to focus. Maybe I should have just stayed in my room. This is stupid; I need to stop second guessing myself, or else I’m never going to get anywhere.

I see someone slide into the seat across from me. As I look up, I realize it’s the woman from before. “Been wondering where you’ve been,” she says.

I stare, my mind taking longer than possible to understand what she’s said.

“Are we friends?” I blurt out without thinking a moment later. The list of things I know is small, and getting smaller every time I try to remember anything, but I know for sure that I don’t want to talk about what happened, except maybe to Dr. Nicholson.

Without thinking, my eyes drift over to the boy in the corner, and for a moment I swear I smell soil. I need to know more about him.

“No,” she answers simply, leaning back in the chair like she’s getting comfortable. “You’ve never been around long enough to be friends with.”

I glance down at my book. It seems so stupid that I don’t know what to say. My eyes stay trained on the words in front of me, seeing them but not comprehending them. “What’s your name?” I ask after a long few moments.

“Ava,” she replies quickly, as if she knew I’d ask.

I look back up at her. “Sarah,” I tell her without prompt.

She smiles, and it’s warm, like the nurse at the station down the hall. “I know. I don’t know if you remember, but I said you’ve been here for a while, and I know everyone around here.”

“Why?”

Ava shrugs. “It’s something to pass the time.” Her expression darkens, and I have a sudden ache to ask more. Why is she here? How long has she been here? When will she leave?

But I don’t ask. I might not be able to remember much, but I know I shouldn’t ask those particular questions.

So, instead of talking, I turn back to my book. The noise is beginning to fade out and I can almost concentrate. I read the words in front of me without fully taking them in. Ava doesn’t speak, but she doesn’t leave either. Instead, she takes out a deck of cards from her pocket and starts to shuffle them. Her motions are rhythmic, and almost soothing, and I feel almost comfortable.

That is, until a chair across the room scrapes loudly against the floor. I flinch at the sound and look up. The dark-haired boy from before is standing up. He throws a glance in my direction and our eyes meet and I’m afraid. Not of him, but of something else, something I can’t remember. My hands clench into tight fists as I watch him make his way to the door.

Ava looks up and looks between us as if she can sense whatever is happening between us. The boy doesn’t look back at me, but I turn in my chair so I can watch him leave the room.

The moment he’s out of my line of sight, I stand.

“Sarah-” Ava starts, but I ignore her.

My chair scrapes just as loudly as his when I push it back and rush to the doorway. He’s heading down the hallway, surely one of these rooms is his.

“Do I know you?” I ask, taking a few steps forward, trying to catch up to him, but something stops me from getting too close.

He turns to me, but doesn’t seem surprised to see me. He shakes his head quickly. “No,” he says simply.

My fists are still clenched, my newly grown nails biting into the skin of my palms in a way that’s almost soothing.

“I don’t believe you,” I tell him.

“You don’t have to,” he says, cocking an eyebrow before he turns and again heads back down the hallway. There’s a noise that sounds like static fading in that begins to fill my ears, but I shake my head, trying to clear it.

Any second, he’s going to go into his room and I won’t be able to talk to him. I have to ask about the trees, the soil, the static, that happens with I see him.

He can’t leave now. I have too many questions I know he can answer. I don’t care what he said, we know each other somehow, and he has to answer my questions.

I know he can help me.

I rush down the hall after him. As I’m getting closer, he stops but doesn’t turn. The static feels louder, but I grit my teeth and force myself to stay in the moment. I can’t fade. I have to stay. I have to get my answers.

I grab his arm when I reach him, and the feeling of fear returns, but when he looks back at me, I know I’m not afraid of him. But he knows why I should be afraid.

“Please,” I beg.

He stares down at me, and he looks almost angry. Maybe I shouldn’t have grabbed him; maybe I should learn to think before I react, but maybe I don’t have the time. I don’t care about how he feels. I need answers. “I just want to remember,” I tell him.

His eyes flash down to my hand, tightly wrapped around his arm. He jerks back and I let go reluctantly.

“It’s better if you don’t,” he says, voice low. My heart feels like it’s skipping beats. He knows. I was right, he knows and –

Without another word, he turns and goes into one of the rooms slamming the door shut behind him. The noise sounds much louder in the silence of the hallway.

He knows and he won’t tell me?

I take a deep breath and turn away from his door. I’m desperate, and it’s obvious, but I can’t force myself to bother him now. I’ll talk to Dr. Nicholson maybe, but not tonight. I’m exhausted, and all I want is to get my book from the lounge and go back to my room.

Ava is in the doorway, clearly having watched the entire exchange. Her eyebrows are still raised in surprise when I approach her. “You got him to speak,” Ava says, looking almost impressed.

“What’s his name?” I ask her, not only because I know she knows, but because I don’t think she’ll tell anyone about this.

“Tim,” she tells me.

I hear echoes of children laughing and wonder what he has to do with that.


	6. unmasking

When I wake in the morning, I immediately know something is wrong. But it’s not with me.

I sit up and throw my covers off. I pause, and that’s when I hear it better. There’s a buzzing of voices in the hallway, and the sound of shoes squeaking against the floor as people pass by.

I glance at the clock against the wall. It’s only eight. I might only be able to remember a few days here, but there’s never been this much noise this early – or anytime, really.

I slip out of bed and cross the floor quickly and throw my door open. There are nurses and other patients scattered down the hallway.

Along with a few police officers as well.

I glance down the hallway and see Ava near the activities lounge. I try to convey my questions, but she doesn’t move to answer them.

“Sarah!” I hear behind me and I turn quickly.

Dr. Nicholson and a policeman make their way over to me. The policeman looks annoyed, and I don’t know why. Something must have happened, right? He’s here to do his job.

“Yes?”

“I was told you spoke with Tim last night,” he starts. “He’s missing again.”

My mouth falls open, but nothing comes out. I glance over my shoulder at Ava. She shrugs, looking guilty but I don’t know why.

I turn back. “I did,” I tell them.

“Why?” the officer asks, taking a step forward. Something about the motion makes my body tense.

“When I looked at him, I saw trees.”

The officer scoffs, and I realize how crazy I sound. Then again, given where I am, maybe I am crazy.

But Dr. Nicholson understands. He turns to me fully, stepping between me and the officer and I feel myself relax, even if it’s just a bit. “You remembered something?” he asks, his voice soft with surprise.

I nod. “I think so. Tim said he didn’t know me, but then why would I see trees?”

“You can talk to Dr. Daniels about it during your therapy session this afternoon. I’ll see that she can pencil you in,” he tells me.

I nod. “I saw him go back to his room afterwards,” I tell the officer. I want to be helpful, but I don’t think I can tell him anything else.

“Did you know him well?”

I shake my head quickly. “Yesterday was the first time I remember speaking to him,” I confess.

“That you remember?” he repeats. “What does that mean?”

“Sarah is being treated for a number of things,” Dr. Nicholson interrupts, and I’m grateful he says something before I can, because I don’t think he would have liked what I might have said. “One being a lost memory. Unfortunately, I believe she’s told you all she remembers from the last year or so.” I also feel a rush of gratitude because he doesn’t try to explain when I fade out. I don’t even know how he could explain it.

The officer jots some notes down in the book I didn’t notice him holding. I wonder what he’s writing. I wasn’t very helpful.

“Excuse me.”

I turn and see a woman has joined us. I didn’t see her approach, and I feel myself tense again. I don’t know why I’m so on edge today.

The officer and Dr Nicholson turn to her quickly. She’s in a suit, but there’s a badge on her hip, so I assume she’s with the police. “We have a problem,” she tells Dr. Nicholson.

“What is it?” he asks.

“The tapes – they’re just static.”

The word sets something off in me, and I turn for my room. I’m assuming they’re done with me, but I can still hear pieces of the conversation as I walk away.

_“That’s impossible.”_

_“Everything is alright until he disappears.”_

I shake my head, trying to ignore the sudden fear that’s settled over me.

“Are you okay?” Ava asks, her voice causing me to jump. I didn’t notice her here, I didn’t know she moved away from the activities lounge.

“Tim is missing,” I tell her. There’s more that wants to be spoken, but I can’t force it out. Maybe I don’t even know what it is.

She nods. “I know,” she starts. Of course, she does. I’m sure everyone here knows. “I’m sorry I told them you talked to him.”

“Don’t be,” I tell her quickly. “You were asked and you didn’t lie about it. I did talk to him, I just-” the words get stuck, and I pretend they aren’t there.

I pretend the words aren’t there all day. It’s easier when I’m not speaking, but when I’m called to Dr. Daniels office for a quick introductory therapy session, I have to talk. She says she’s only observed me once, we never had an actual session, because I was too faded for it. I tell her what I remember, which isn’t much. She asks me questions I can’t answer and I feel like I’m wasting her time.

When her alarm goes off, signaling its’ time for me to leave, I’m grateful. I say goodbye and head for the door. But the words are there, causing me to stop.

“Is there anything else?” Dr. Daniels asks after a moment. I drop my hand and turn to her. I open my mouth to ask the question that’s been threatening to escape all day, but the words get stuck. I swallow hard. “Sarah?” she probes gently.

“Is it my fault he left?” I force out without thinking. If I think, it makes everything harder.

The words hang in the air as if they’re taunting me.

“Of course not,” Dr. Daniels tells me quickly, and I can’t help but feel she’s lying. “Tim is troubled; he’ll get the help he needs eventually.”

It’s not a good answer, and it’s not the answer I’m looking for, but I nod and leave without another word. I should have kept those words to myself.

I realize, later that night after the rush of the day is over, that I’m upset Tim is gone. But not because it might be my fault.

Because he knows, I know he does, and now he’s gone, and he can’t tell me what he knows.


	7. unfolding

**One**

The next morning, Tim is all anyone can talk about. I hear the nurses and doctors whispering about it around nurses’ station at the front of the ward. I try to hear what I can, I want to know everything I can, but the nurse from before, who’s nametag I finally notice says Yasmine, tells me to head back to my room. The whispering stops then, and I’m forced to go back to my room.

Ava doesn’t know anything, and even looks surprised when I ask, but I don’t know why. Surely, she knows more about Tim than she’s telling me. If she knew about me, she must know about him?

But she says all she knows is that he showed up one day, just like I did. No one knows where he came from. This isn’t the first time he’s disappeared, but it hasn’t happened in a long time. The longest he was last gone was two weeks, but he’s always brought back.

If he doesn’t come back, he won’t be able to help me.

**Eleven**

Dr. Daniels says I should write down anything that feels like a memory. I feel like I’ve done this before, but I don’t know if that’s true or not.

That’s the flaw with her plan, I think. I don’t know the difference between my memories and my dreams and my imagination. They all contain the same static that makes it hard to focus. The details are too fuzzy, there’s nothing concrete for me to hold onto. Nothing that I can think of that makes me think: _this, this is real, this happened and I know it’s true_.

But she gives me a journal from her desk and holds it out to me. It’s a pink and white marbled design with blue bindings. I borrow a marker from her and write across the top: _REMEMBER TO WRITE AND READ_. She watches me in silence, but I know she’s pleased with the small amount of progress I’ve made.

She tells me this is the longest I’ve ever been here; been present and speaking and responding. Maybe I don’t need Tim, maybe I just need time to get better on my own.

**Eighteen**

_There’s something just beyond the trees I know there is I know it’s watching me_

It’s a nightmare, and I know it’s a nightmare, but that doesn’t stop the scream. I don’t know if I started screaming before or after I woke up, all I know is I’m screaming.

I push the blankets off and scramble for the light. My motions are shaky, and the lamp falls to the floor with a loud _clang_ , and I’m on the floor with no memory of what happened in between.

The darkness is overwhelming, and suffocating. I gasp for air, but I can’t catch my breath. I wish I could see, if I could see everything would be okay.

_It is watching me it is enjoying this it wants me to suffer_

I pull my legs to my chest as the door opens. Someone is shouting, and the sound of many squeaking shoes fills my head, making it ache. The light from the hallway floods the room, but I still can’t breathe.

Someone touches my shoulder and the sob escapes me before I realize I’m crying. Maybe that explains why I can’t breathe. The person holds me tighter, and I shove away from them, pulling my legs up tighter. I don’t want to be here, I can’t be here.

“Sarah, Sarah, stop, everything’s okay!” one of them says in a quick, low voice.

I open my mouth to tell them, to explain about the nightmare of children and trees and unseeing eyes, but instead of speaking, I gasp and struggle to take another breath.

“Sarah, I need you to calm down,” a woman says, grabbing onto me and holding me tight. “I need you to breathe, can you do that for me?”

I try. I try to focus on her hands and her voice and not my heart or the burst of static in my ears, but it’s not enough. I gasp again, still sobbing without the gratification of tears. Nothing is making sense, everything seems to be happening out of order, and then the woman is shouting something over her shoulder. A moment later there’s a pinch in my arm and suddenly the air comes without trouble.

“You’ll be okay,” she says as the static fades into darkness.

_Don’t let them find me I have to hide they can’t find me_

**Twenty-Two**

They want to talk about it. They always want to talk about it.

Dr. Daniels mentions the progress I’ve been making as if that’ll change the fact that I don’t want to talk about it.

I tell her I don’t remember. I think she knows I’m lying, but I don’t care. I can’t tell her, or Dr. Nicholson, or Ava, or anyone about my dream because none of it makes sense. Faceless men, the woods at night, the sounds of static coming from nowhere…it’s not logical. It was only a dream, I don’t know what they think will come of it.

I listen to her explain the importance of communication. I assure her I’m still writing in my journal, even though it’s only been bits and pieces since she gave it to me almost two weeks ago.

Finally, Dr. Daniels ends our session and I leave. I can breathe easy in the hallway, alone and away from their concerned gazes.

**Thirty**

No one is in the activities lounge when I enter. My head is pounding from a headache I’ve had since I woke up, and I hope when I wake tomorrow it’ll be gone.

I slide my book onto the shelf and skim the titles for a new one. None of them really jump out to me, but I take one down that looks the most interesting and sit down in the chair closest to the bookcase.

I hear footsteps outside and look up just as Ava rushes into the room. I can hear her trying to catch her breath. I close the cover of my book and lean forward. Why would she have run here? What could be so important?

“What’s wrong?” I ask quickly.

She gestures wildly at me, but I don’t move. “He’s back,” she says, and for a moment her words mean nothing. “Tim’s back,” she adds when I don’t react.

Those words mean everything. I feel my heart racing as I jump up from my seat. My book falls to the ground, and I step around it in my hurry to the door. I lean out and see him go into his room. Dr. Nicholson is with him, and that fact is the only thing keeping me from following after him.

I feel nonexistent wind on my face and I know I have to talk to him as soon as possible.


	8. confession

I head down the hallway to his room, but when I get to the door, Yasmine the nurse exits the room and jumps when she sees me.

“Go back to your room, Sarah,” she tells my quickly, after taking a moment to collect herself.

“I need to see him,” I tell her. She wouldn’t understand that this is important. It feels like I’ve stopped getting better, and maybe that’s not true, but maybe seeing Tim, talking to him, will help me.

“He’s been sedated,” she tells me in a low voice. I don’t think that’s something I’m supposed to know. “You can see him in the morning.”

I sigh and turn back to my room. I just have to hope he doesn’t run away again before I can see him again.

I don’t sleep. I try, but it never comes.

How stupid I feel. Just days ago, I said I didn’t need him to get better and now I can’t stop thinking about him and the answers he surely has.

And as much as I try not to think about it, my nightmare from before still gives me chills.

I now know the pinch was a sedative, and I never want to have it again. It’s worse than the static – it’s stronger and I feel myself falling into it and climbing back out of it. With the static, I remember nothing.

It sounds almost hypocritical, how I want to remember some things but not others. I probably shouldn’t be so picky.

I manage to wait until after breakfast. I force myself to choke down my cereal and then I leave the room. No one is in the hallway as I make my way down it, and I’m grateful. I don’t’ want to explain to anyone what I’m doing.

The door is cracked when I come to it. I knock and after a moment, I hear his voice on the other side of the door. I can’t understand what he’s saying, or if he’s even said real words, so I push the door open.

There’s a blanket hanging over his blinds, and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness.

Tim is sitting on the edge of his bed, looking more alert than I remember feeling after my sedation.

“Is it okay I’m here?” I ask

He lifts his head and appears to focus on me. His eyebrows jump in what I’m assuming is surprise. Out of everyone is could have been, I’m sure he wasn’t expecting me.

He shrugs, but it’s not an answer. “I can leave if that’s what you want.”

“I knew you’d come,” he says, his words slow as if each one takes special effort to force out.

I don’t respond. We watch each other for a few long, quiet moments before he sighs. “You can stay,” he says finally.

My hand drops from the door handle and I step forward. Our rooms are exactly the same, and for some strange reason I find comfort in that fact.

I step further, and the smell of decomposing leaves hits me. I stop and try to focus on it. It’s a memory – it has to be, and I have to remember to write it down.

I close my eyes, and I suddenly remember a man yelling nonsense about dogs, and camera, and children, and that can’t be right but it feels right.

“Sarah?” Tim asks, his voice low.

I open my eyes and turn to him. He’s watching me closely, and I find that I don’t like it.

_Because he’s done it before?_

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snaps, his voice still low, but there’s an edge to it, like he knows what I’m thinking.

He runs his hands over his face and digs his palms into his eyes, rubbing them in quick, surely painful, motions. I continue into the room. For a moment I consider sitting next to him, but I don’t. I move around the bed and sit opposite him. I’m facing the blocked window, and my heart feels like it’s missing beats.

There’s a long few minutes of silence. I can hear people walking by in the hallway, and I’m grateful no one comes in here. I don’t know what’s happening between us, but if someone comes in, they’ll break this connection.

I slip my hands between my knees and press them together until it’s almost painful. I remember a different kind of pain in the back of my head. It’s not the static, but it’s almost as bad.

But I don’t know if it’s real or not.

“Ask me,” Tim says after another few quiet minutes.

I glance over my shoulder at him. “What?”

“You asked before I left.”

I turn, propping my knee on the bed. I’m close to touching him, but I know I shouldn’t get closer. “I know you have something to do with me; I know you’re in my memories somewhere, I just can’t remember you,” I confess. There’s something right there, almost within grasp, but the more I think about it, the further away it goes.

“I’ve done bad things,” he whispers, and then he turns to look at me over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe me, and if you did-”

“I need to remember,” I tell him slowly, trying to put my thoughts into words, trying to make sense of the mess in my head. “But I don’t think you can tell me. I think I have to remember on my own.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

I shrug. “I’m remembering pieces. I’ve remembered trees, and the wind, and children, and some other things that don’t make any sense without context.”

We watch each other for a moment before I raise my hand. “Can I?” I ask.

He nods without further explanation. I put my hand on his arm and my body flinches, like I’ve almost fallen. My heart begins to beat fast, like I’m running. My lungs hurt; I can’t breathe, but it’s not from the running. The smell of dirt fills the room, or maybe only my nose.

I pull my hand away, and Tim doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. My heart stops pounding and my lungs fill with ease.

We sit in silence in the darkening room until night falls.


	9. peril

_I have been here before._

When Sarah leaves later that night, she says nothing, and Tim does nothing to stop her. He watches her until she’s out of sight, and then sighs bitterly when she doesn’t close the door behind her.

He debates getting up and closing it himself, but he’s too exhausted. He feels heavy, and thankfully he knows it’s because of the drugs, not because of whatever happens when _it_ takes over.

He lays down instead, and he shivers, but doesn’t move to pull the blankets up – his arms feel as if they’re being weighed down by force, or branches, and it’s all he can do to get comfortable enough to fall asleep.

_I’ve already taken this path._

But he’s not asleep for long. He’s jerked awake by some unknown reason. His heart is pounding painfully in his chest. He doesn’t know what time it is – he lost the privilege to a clock months ago when he tried to use the broken plastic to hurt himself.

But it’s still dark. The only light is coming from under his closed door…but it was open before, wasn’t it? Who closed it, and when?

A scream echoes down the hallway and he freezes. The sound turns his blood to ice, but as the sound fades, he feels hot all over.

It’s Sarah.

He doesn’t feel heavy anymore, as he pushes himself off the bed and lunges for the door; he can only focus on Sarah. Her door is open, but there’s no light coming from inside, and the light from the hallway is unable to cross the threshold.

Tim feels the static before he can form a complete thought but he pushes forward when Sarah screams again.

He rushes forward and bursts into the room. It’s exactly like his, and he knows exactly how to turn to enter the bathroom. He sees her on the floor by the shower. Her knees are pulled tightly to her chest with her hands over her ears as if to block out a voice only she can hear.

“Sarah?” he asks, stepping forward.

He crouches down in front o her. A moment later, as shouts in the hallway get louder, Sarah drops her hands. They fall limply to her sides, but the relief Tim feels is fleeting.

“Tim?”

“Sarah?” he repeats loudly. He grabs her shoulders and gives her one rough shake. “Sarah!”

_Why can’t I find my way out?_

The room feels smaller, and it takes him one frightening moment to realize it’s only because there are two nurses in the room with him. One grabs his shoulder and pulls him roughly back as the other approaches Sarah, who isn’t responding.

“What happened?” the nurse with her hand still on his shoulder demands.

Tim forces himself to look away from Sarah, up to the nurse, and shrugs, because it’s the only answer that makes sense.

It’s not enough for the nurse, and he continues. “I don’t know,” he tells her, but the bitter taste in his mouth makes him that that maybe he does know. Maybe he just doesn’t want to admit it.

“Go back to your room,” she tells him, and there’s an edge to her voice, close to frustration. “Dr Nicholson will come see you in the morning.”

Tim doesn’t move. His throat burns, and he needs his medicine, but he can’t leave her now. “Will she be okay?” he asks, even though he realizes he knows the answer.

“Go back to your room,” the nurse repeats, completely ignoring his question.

He takes one last look at her, or the empty shell she became so quickly, and forces himself to leave the room.

_I’ll be waiting here for you to find me_

Tim doesn’t sleep. The drugs in his system are trying to force him out, but somehow, he manages to fight against them. He paces the room, he takes a cold shower, he refuses to let his eyes close longer than a blink.

He probably needs one of his pills, if the static in the back of his head is any indication that things could get bad, but he doesn’t call for a nurse. If any of them realize he’s not asleep, they’ll give him something else for it, and then he’ll sleep for sure.

He has to stay awake.

And somehow, he does. The sun starts streaking through the blinds on his window, and seeing the light makes him realize just how totally exhausted he is.

Instead of letting his eyelids drop, he gets up from his small table. He grabs the blankets from the bed and pulls them into a pile at the foot of the bed, trying to make it look like it’s been slept in.

One of the aides comes in with his breakfast tray, and the smell of bacon makes his stomach turn. He pushes it away and starts chewing on his fingernails.

By the time Dr. Nicholson shows up, his nails are bitten to the quick, and some are bloody around the cuticle. He wipes his fingers on his pants.

“How is she?” Tim asks, standing before he can stop himself.

Dr. Nicholson looks over at him, and shakes his head just the smallest amount. Tim barely catches it. “It’s not looking good,” he tells Tim. “What happened?”

“It’s my fault,” Tim confesses, and it almost feels good. “It happened when she bumped into me, and it happened last night,” he pauses, and swallows hard.

“That doesn’t tell me what happened, Tim,” the doctor reminds him.

Tim closes his eyes, and tries to make sense of the mess going on in his mind. “She was in my room. She came to see me after I was brought back.” He pauses again, trying to understand how all this could have happened in only a few minutes. “She left. I heard her scream and went to her room.” He looks up at Dr. Nicholson. “She was already gone when I got there,” he tells him. “It’s my fault,” he repeats. “And I’ll stay away from her,” he promises. “If it’ll help her get better, I’ll stay away from her.”

_Who are you do I know you will you help me?_

They don’t tell him expressly to stay away, but he does. He forces himself to stay away from her even though he wants to check on her. He knows it’s his fault.

Dr. Nicholson doesn’t come back to speak to him, and after the fourth or fifth day, Tim stops expecting him to.

The sun is setting on the eighth day of Sarah’s relapse. The light coming through the gaps in the blinds has a strange yellow tint that seems almost unnatural.

Tim doesn’t know exactly why he gets up from his chair and leaves his room, but he does it without a second thought. He’s been so good about staying away for eight days, but today he has to see her.

She came to see him, maybe it’s only fair.

Tim goes into the room without knocking. Sarah is sitting on her bed, knees pulled up to her chest.

He moves forward slowly, as if afraid he’ll scare her, which he knows is ridiculous because she probably doesn’t even know he’s there.

He sits down lightly in front of her. Sarah doesn’t move, and he’s not surprised. He watches her for a moment. He wants her to say something. He knows it’s his fault, he’s known it for a while; he just didn’t want to admit it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, as if it matters now. “I should have told you what you needed to know.” His voice gets caught, and he realizes that’s probably enough.

He stands before he can say anything else. He’s almost to the door when he hears behind him, “Tim?” And he whirls on his heels and sees Sarah looking up at him, eyes wide with confusion, and the rush of relief he feels looking at her is almost frightening.

_8 5.23 9 12 12.6 9 14 4.25 15 21_


	10. betrayal

They want me to talk about what happened, and it doesn’t matter how many times I tell them that I don’t know; that I don’t remember. They just keep asking.

Dr. Nicholson has them run tests. They take so much blood it’s painful, all while asking questions.

Why do they ask questions when they don’t listen to the answers?

The only people who doesn’t ask anything is Tim. In fact, he doesn’t say much of anything, and it’s nice.

I’m told it happened after visiting Tim one night, almost two weeks ago. I don’t tell them that I don’t remember Tim coming back. I remember being told he was gone, and then nothing. The tell me to think back, but there’s nothing there to remember.

There’s only static, or maybe it’s the rustling of dead leaves. 

Tim watches me as I try to remember. After a couple of days, I decide to ask my own questions. Maybe I should be working out the answers on my own, but it’s impossible. I need help, and it looks like Tim is my only choice.

I look over at him. He’s seated at my little table across the room. He’s not actually looking at me right now, like I thought he was. In fact, he’s not looking at anything at all. He’s just sitting there, arms crossed tightly, staring at the floor. He looks so lost in thought that it takes me a few, long moments to work up the nerve to speak.

“This isn’t working,” I say eventually. He jumps at my words and turns to me. I crack my knuckles as I wait for him to respond.

“Stop trying,” he finally tells me. “It’ll come if you don’t force it.”

“Do you know that for sure?” I ask, my voice sounding soft.

We watch each other for a moment in silence. I won’t ask again. If he won’t tell me, I won’t ask again. Maybe he’s right, maybe I can’t force it.

“Yeah,” he says simply.

I don’t know why, but that answer is exactly what I was expecting.

Tim leaves that night when one of the new nurses comes in and tells him he has to leave. He rolls his eyes at me over her shoulder, and I almost laugh. The nurse glances over at me, and I let my face fall. I think she must have arrived during my fade. There’s something about me that makes her uncomfortable.

I think I make a lot of people around here uncomfortable.

I get ready for bed, and force my mind to think about something other than my missing memories.

I don’t sleep very well; I never do much these days. The sun is starting to peak through the blinds when I decide to get up and head for the activities room. I need a new book, and while there aren’t many more to choose from, there’s bound to be something.

I head down the hallway, and hear footsteps behind me. Even though it has to be a nurse, or a doctor, or another patient, my ears twitch at the sound. I’m not doing anything wrong, so I don’t know why it feels like I’ve been caught breaking a rule.

I continue down the hallway. The footsteps get faster, and before I know it, a hand is wrapped around my arm and tugging me to a stop.

I taste copper in my mouth when I turn and see a tall boy standing behind me. He’s taller than Tim, and I know he’s not a patient here, but he looks familiar.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he says, brushing his brown hair out of his eyes.

“Where have you been?” I ask without thinking, taking a step towards him. “Alex-”

He smiles, and it’s strangely beautiful. I wish I could remember anything about him, besides his name…and that he suffered like I did. “It’s hard to find someone who doesn’t remember anything.”

It takes me a moment to figure out what’s wrong with his statement, but when I do, the hairs on my arms stand on end. “How do you know that?”

He pauses for a moment. I wonder if he knows I can’t handle any more secrets. “Your doctor told me.”

“You saw my doctor?” I ask.

Alex nods. “He said a familiar face might help you remember,” he says with a slight shrug.

There’s something missing here. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but something is missing.

“I don’t remember a lot,” I tell him. I brush the hair over my shoulder as I try to think of a way to put the mess in my head into words.

“That’s okay,” he says quickly.

Over his shoulder, I see Tim come out of his room. He looks up, and stops when he sees me and Alex. I open my mouth to call him over; maybe they can work together to help me.

But Tim turns away and heads back for his room. Alex turns just as Tim is disappearing into the room, and hurries after him, calling out: “Hey!”

I follow after him, my ears ringing with the sound of metal hitting cement. I smell decay that exists only in my memory.

Alex stops at the doorway of the room. Tim is not inside. I don’t know how he got away so fast. He always gets away fast when he wants to.

_He’s done it before._

“What are you doing?” I ask Alex.

He turns to me, and he seems empty behind his eyes. “I thought I saw someone I knew.” He glances down at the phone I never noticed in his hand. “I should get going. I’ll stop by tomorrow and we’ll talk, okay?”

I nod. “Come early,” I tell him. “I have a lot of questions.”

He smiles again, before he turns away. It’s different this time. I watch him walk down the hallway and out of sight.

I suddenly see flashes of trees, and rundown buildings. There’s the sound of harsh wind and dead leaves. I close my eyes and focus on what I can hold onto. Someone coughs. There’s a groan. The smell of decay becomes stronger. And then, footsteps. I see something, in the trees.

I open my eyes quickly. I have to find Tim.

But he’s not in his room. I check there, and the activities lounge, and even ask the nurse at the station, but I can’t find him.

I need him. I need to tell him I’m remembering.

I give up, and head back to my room. Tim’s sitting at my little table, as if he belongs there.

“I’ve been looking for you,” I tell him.

We watch each other for a long, silent moment, but it’s not him I see. I see white, moving through the darkness. My chest tightens with the fear that I’ll be found.

But I’m not missing.

“If you want to ask, go ahead,” he says.

There are a hundred questions racing through my mind, but only one makes it to my mouth. “Do you know Alex?”

“No,” he answers, a bit too quickly.

I shake my head, clenching my hands into fists that I suddenly want to throw. “Why tell me to ask questions if you’re just going to lie to me?” I demand.

“I’m trying to keep you safe,” he says softly.

“I’m remembering,” I tell him. His eyes widen, and I see now I have his full attention. “I remember being in the woods. I remember being scared; being chased. I remember Alex, and I know he’s not my friend.” I pause. “And I know we aren’t friends either.” His face remains unmoved, but his eyes are flickering back and forth. “I remember helping with a school project; something chasing me in the woods.” I pause again. “Just tell me what I’m missing. You know I deserve that.”

He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t speak at all, and I remain silent as well. I’m furious with him. He knows how badly I want to remember what I’m missing before the hospital. I give him another minute to speak before I turn and leave the room.

“Sarah!” Tim calls after me.

“Forget it!” I yell over my shoulder.

I turn, and that’s when I see him. I don’t know how he got in after visiting hours. I don’t know why no one stopped him, or why the metal detectors at the entrance didn’t go off.

Alex is pointing a gun at my chest.

_And he’s done this before._

“Where is he?” Alex demands. “Where is Tim?”

I raise my hands, unable to take my eyes off the gun. “Alex-”

“Shut up!” he screams. “What did he tell you?” he demands. His hand is shaking.

“She doesn’t know anything,” I hear Tim say behind me. Alex raises the gun, pointing it over my shoulder. I turn, shocked that he would put himself in a situation like this.

“Tim-”

“Shut up!” Alex screams again as he takes a step forward. “What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t have to tell her anything.”

“Alex, please put the gun down,” I beg, taking a step towards him. He points the gun back at me. I feel my heart pounding painfully in my chest.

“You can’t trust him,” Alex tells me. He’s still shaking, but it’s spread through his entire body. I’m terrified that he’s going to pull the trigger by accident.

I’m not entirely sure who I can trust. Everyone has lied to me. I turn back to Tim, who shakes his head gently from side to side, so inconspicuously that I can barely tell he’s moving at all.

I turn back to Alex. “We can fix this,” I tell him. “We can work together-”

“It’s never going to end,” Alex says, his voice softer now. “Not until every person that’s come in contact with it is dead.”

“We can figure something out,” I force out. I try to force myself to breathe, but my throat is tight.

“I have to end this.”

Alex takes a deep breath, and his hand steadies. He aims the gun at me, raising his other hand to steady himself, and I close my eyes. I feel tears sliding down my cheeks as I remember this happened before; there’s just too much light and not enough trees.

I hear footsteps. I’m shoved to the side as Tim rushes past. I hit the wall hard, pain shoots down my wrist as I land awkwardly on the ground.

Tim tackles Alex, and the gun falls from his hand. Alex knees Tim in the stomach, and gains the upper-hand. They roll over, and Alex wraps his hands around Tim’s throat.

I push myself up off the floor, ignoring the pain that radiates from my wrist as I put pressure on it. I grab the gun at their feet. I don’t know how to shoot it, or even if I could, so I raise my hand high and bring it down on the back of Alex’s head.

He falls to the side, eyes wide with surprise. Tim stands on shaking legs, coughing and rubbing his neck.

Together, we take Alex into my room and tie him to my chair using bits of ripped sheets. Alex screams the whole time, and I can’t help but wonder why no one has come to check on us. Where is everyone?

Tim and I work in silence, and when we leave, we barricade the doors with chairs from down the hall.

“Come on,” Tim says, and I follow him without question.

He leads me out the emergency exit at the end of the hall and we run to the closest parking lot. It’s almost laughable at how quickly we find a car with the keys still inside. I jam the keys in the ignition and pull out of the parking lot. I don’t ask Tim where he wants to go, I just drive, trying to put as much distance between us and Alex and the hospital, as I can.


	11. disclosure

We don’t talk to each other. We don’t make a plan. I just pick a direction and drive. We’re on the road for hours before we have to stop for gas. Tim takes over driving and I’m grateful. My eyes are burning and I just want to rest.

We don’t stop until well after nightfall. The dashboard says it’s past eleven, but it feels much later. It feels as though we’ve been driving for days without pause.

Tim pulls into the parking lot of the first hotel we find and gets us a room. I wait outside while he talks to the woman behind the counter. Surely someone is looking for us. We escaped a hospital, after we tied someone up, before we stole a car.

They have to be looking for us.

Tim comes out and motions for me to follow him. We’re in a room on the far end of the first floor. The car is parked at the other end of the lot for safety reasons.

I close the door behind me as Tim falls onto the bed in front of him. I sit down on the other one. My throat is dry from hours of inactivity, but the question comes out before I can stop myself.

“You and Alex have history, don’t you?”

Tim scoffs, and raises his hands behind his head. I don’t speak, and after a moment, he responds. “You could say that.”

“I remember being afraid of him,” I confess. There are still bits missing, but there’s enough there to put together a memory. “We were in the woods,” I continue. Tim rolls his head to look at me. “Me, and Alex, and you. I remember being afraid” I pause. There was someone else, but I can’t remember who. I can’t focus on them. I remember Alex yelling nonsense about dogs and camera and children and that can’t be right but it feels right.

There’s more; there’s always more and I’m never going to get it all. It’s always going to be just out of reach.

“He attacked me,” Tim says, rolling over onto his side, and then sitting up. “We were working on some stupid school project. A film, in the woods. Alex attacked me.”

“I know you’re the reason I was in the hospital,” I tell him quickly. His face pales as he jerks his head to look up at me. “We were at Rosswood Park. But I know it wasn’t you.” I pause again. Maybe I should be afraid to be here with him, after everything that’s happened, but I’m not. I’m sick of not remembering, and I’m tired of the haziness that seems to have settled on me, but I’m not afraid.

The minifridge kicks on, humming gently in the background. Somewhere down the hall a door slams and footsteps fade towards the stairway. I lay back on the bed and wonder if I’ll be able to sleep tonight.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says in a soft voice, almost as if he’s hoping I don’t hear him. I don’t respond, because I don’t know what to say.

When I wake up, it’s still dark. It’s too dark.

I hear Tim curse somewhere beside me and then the faint clicking of a light switch, a feat that does nothing. The room stays dark.

My head begins to feel heavy, and I recognize the feeling. There’s static in me. I stand up, bumping into Tim as I do so.

“We have to go,” he says quickly. His hand hits the bedside table between us until I hear the unmistakable sound of car keys. He grabs me and we rush for the door.

Black spots dance in front of my eyes as the streetlamps blind us. We turn for the car, when somewhere behind us is a gunshot.

The sound pierces me and I stop dead in my tracks. Tim turns to me. Everything feels as though it’s going too fast.

“Go!” he shouts at me, pushing me forward.

“Get back here!” I hear Alex scream from behind us. “I have to end this!”

I run. I don’t look back to see if Tim is behind me, because I know he’s not. I hope he’s not doing something stupid like trying to fight Alex, but I don’t look. I can’t help him. With the static growing, I don’t know if I’ll be able to help myself.

So, I continue to run. Branches brush my cheeks in harsh motions, and I stop. I don’t remember there being woods near the hotel when we first pulled in.

There’s another gunshot, and I realize I don’t have time to think. I take off again, trying to make sense of the woods around me. It would be easier if I could see, but there’s nothing I can do about that now.

I see lights in the distance, and work my way towards them. It appears to be from windows, and I focus all of my attention on it. Everything feels heavy, but I force myself forward.

I only stop when I see the hospital. The lights were coming from the hospital.

But that doesn’t make sense. We were driving for hours. We never looped back around. We left the state! I know we did. I can’t be back here. It’s not possible.

I hear twigs snapping behind me, but I don’t turn. I can’t tear my eyes from the building in front of me. This can’t be real.

More twigs snap, closer this time. With every step closer, I feel static behind my eyes and in my ears and clawing up my throat.

_Whatever it is, let it come. Let it come._


End file.
